


Braided

by Diogenissa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Psychological Horror, Violence, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6495802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diogenissa/pseuds/Diogenissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst in others was the best in you...</p><p> </p><p>(2nd person POV - Antonin Dolohov)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braided

Azkaban is a dark raging pit of nothingness, a reeking and disease-ridden cesspool of perpetual filth and tears, pain and piss. And then there are the Dementors, their howling cries that bring misery and terrible sorrows to tangible life echoing throughout the dank corridors and their seemingly endless darkness clinging to those very same halls made for a hopeless setting indeed.

None of this matters to you of course; you’ve been here for longer than you can properly remember. That’s another thing, time has no place here and is all but forgotten by prisoners in the wake of the Dementors’ fierce command of drowning them in their worst nightmares.

But the worst in others was the best in you: while others wallowed in said nightmares, you reveled in yours for they were the sweetest things and allowed your over-active imagination to come up with lovely new ways to entertain yourself at your keepers’ expense. 

And of course plan—for you know you won’t be here forever.

You know.

You sit against the wall, legs drawn up and arms lazily draped over your knees. There is as always, no real light coming into your cell save for what little pierces the thick mists that predominate the landscape outside. Out of pure boredom you wonder just how jagged those crags were below the fortress really are. A grin then lights up your warped features and a low, deviant chuckle rumbles against your throat.

_You had known your master for a long time and had travelled with him to gain some sort of favor at Hogwarts, the alma mater you both shared. The both of you held the very same values to heart and he knew you well enough to know what you needed to survive in a manner of speaking. When the First Wizarding War was upon the world, he offered you a fresh, fertile hunting ground, ready and ripe for the picking. You could literally get away with it and provide for him that which he wanted and keep the rest for yourself. It was a win-win situation._

_And pick you did, sweeter than any fruit ever cultivated were their screams as they fell under the intangible weight of your purple flame, provided they had a chance to do so at all before it struck them. You remember how the flames’ purple glow filled your eyes to blinding and your mind with intoxicating pleasure. Your body and soul soon followed in its’ quest to consume you wholly._

_Ah that spell--that sweet, delicious curse that was like your child for it was yours and yours alone. It was special and unique and would mature into your modus operandi. Even the incantation itself was in your native Russian, designed to kill but if not instantly then would wound so badly internally that collapse was imminent. Sometimes it was more enjoyable that way, to watch them writhing about in unnatural agony before they expired completely._

 

You can barely feel the iciness of the wall against your neck and shoulders as long as your unkempt hair is, not that that matters as your memories as well as the sheer anticipation that one day you will only add to them is enough. It all keeps your blood hot and ready, pumping it furiously throughout your body insulating you from the outside chill that has already claimed many a weaker soul. Well that and the long braid that was very carefully hidden in the corner directly to your right. 

_At one time, it was radiant and colorful, translucent like a clamshell regardless of what the color had been before. You had made it that way of course: after you shorn a lock, you would magically graft it into the braid, where it took on its’ own special shine in the process, unique unto itself. You had to make sure that whomever you acquired it from that they became truly part of it, of you. You could not allow yourself to forget them, so this was your way of preservation, of honoring them and they in turn strengthened you. They belong to you as much now as they did when you did the world a favor by removing them._

As you run your black-stained fingers over its’ smoothness, you’re amazed at how it still seemed to retain a lot of its’ ethereal beauty. It reminded you of how your beloved _Matushka_ (Mother) would sometimes wear her hair. Even covered in blood and the inky remnants of the darkness that permeated this place, it was the most beautiful thing, more beautiful than any person. This was your lover in a way and you liked to think you remained faithful. 

It causes a shuddering breath inside of you as you explore it but slowly, meticulously giving each one your undivided attention as is only right. After all, each one had a story to tell, a memory to share, a dream of yours come true by its’ very presence. 

_A streak of jet black belonged to a little girl with an injured teddy bear. By then you had already taken her parents, filthy Muggles who put up a good fight you had to admit. As you walked down the corridor, your instinctively sharp senses were on high alert for the slightest noise, all the while feeling the anticipation inside of you growing, yet another lock to add. Heavens know if you let the little sweetling live, she’d squeal to the Muggle authorities and that would cause all sorts of unnecessary problems. You were never one to do anything half-assed to begin with—only amateurs did that and piss poor ones at that. No you were in it for all or nothing._

_It didn’t take long and you found her huddled into the back of the darkest corner of her room, the darkest she could apparently find as the room was flooded with moonlight otherwise. She tightened her grip on her teddy bear, its’ right arm near torn off and stuffing slipping out. As hard as she was trying to hide from you, she betrayed herself with her piteous whimpering. You could hear her and she smelled of terror, a scent you were a master of detecting, especially when you were the cause of it._

_You hovered closer, the darkness of the corner increasing with the casting of your shadow as it enveloped her. Crouching down, you matched her eye-level and you ran the back of your black leather-gloved hand over her reddened, tear-stained cheeks. Too bad you couldn’t remove those gloves to truly feel just how hot her fear and grief had made her…_

_A lock that was once honeyed brown belonged to a young man right out of school. He was a magical child, Muggleborn or so the report said. Little blighter was trying to protect his family and while they escaped your grasp, he didn’t and thus was rewarded accordingly. You had to begrudgingly give him credit for being so foolish and gave you a decent fight. He said he wasn’t afraid of you but again you knew better, you could smell it--that same, sweet smell of death being oh so very close and from the look on his face, he knew it deep down._

_Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a scarf of red and gold and had to roll your eyes. Damned brat was a Gryffindor, which would figure given his foolhardy behavior. Before he knew what was happening, you Disarmed him and forced that scarf to stretch and twist as it flew around his neck, slamming him backward into the bedpost, securing him there. You took a few moments of quiet in order to appreciate the instinctive fight he was putting up, writhing and twisting like a fish out of water, struggling to free himself. His eyes were blue you recall and you don’t think you’d ever seen eyes that wide before, especially as you raised your wand toward him. It was a rather lovely sight…_

You hiss with pleasure as your fingers continue their journey, losing yourself within the lives of your victims. Nothing else matters to you right then, it never does whenever you went on one of these sojourns. It was like reliving them over and over again.

Finally your fingers pass over a particular lock of red hair, along with a black curl that had wound its’ way within it. You pause and start to feel angry, angry as it reminds you of your one and only major mistake that landed you here in the first place. 

_Gideon and Fabian Prewett, twins and members of the loathsome Order of the Phoenix. Both were rather capable wizards and you knew that when it came to them, caution had to be your word. Yes, they were going to be by far, the most difficult prey you’ve ever hunted but the end result was going to be so very well worth it, this you knew for fact._

_You were teamed with Yaxley, who had been serving your master for awhile and was an accomplished wizard in his own right. The other three were fresh out of Hogwarts and eager to prove their value to the Dark Lord by any means possible. The both of you agreed that night that you couldn’t be bothered to babysit these virginal and untested spring chickens—this mission especially was too important and they were just going to get in the way or worse, steal what rightfully belonged to you. And as it turned out, one of them was stupid enough to do so._

_It was a long and hard-fought battle, the spring chickens not doing too bad for themselves, much to your complete shock. The younger twin Fabian had caught up with you and he was bleeding from the right temple. You couldn’t help but lick your lips as you were heavily bruised yourself but damn you had come too far and if there was one thing you didn’t ever do was quit. No, you couldn’t wait to add that blood-soaked lock of red wave to your braid! Eventually, he too fell to your purple flame when he made the fatal mistake of turning his back on you for only a fraction of a second and that was all the time you needed. It slammed into his back, propelling him forward face first to where he hit the ground with a sickening crash, his body contorting rather unnaturally yet beautifully. Cautiously you limped over to him and by that time Yaxley and the hens had returned, restraining Gideon quite conveniently and wandless. You had the boys force him to his knees and commanded him to look at his twin as you kicked Fabian’s lifeless body over right in front of him. You then crouched down carefully and searched for that one lock of hair you saw. Once you found it, you drew your wand along it at an angle, slicing it cleanly and then held it in front of him. Oh the absolute venom this stirred in Gideon’s self-righteous heart was priceless and elicited a round of uproarious laughter. He knew he was next._

_You again commanded the boys to force him up so that you could properly join him with his twin in death as in life but you didn’t get the chance as Gideon suddenly fell forward lifeless in their arms, dead. Your joy quickly dissipated as you then heard one of them promptly state that why should –you- get all the credit? This created a deadening silence as you faced him slowly, asking him in your thick Russian accent ‘As opposed to you getting any? Quite simply because you are nothing more than a opportunistic little wet shit of a boy barely whelped off his mother’s breast attempting to cut his teeth at a man’s expense and you just encroached on his territory. Now a debt is owed…’_

_A few moments later you allowed your fury free. Knowing what you were like when you were angry Yaxley pulled the other two back. That little bastard never knew what hit him, the pain slow but hard and intense, so much so that he almost passed out from it. But you forbade it, your flame tearing into him and he succumbed quickly enough. After you had claimed a black curl from him and dangled it in front of the other two, they took the silent yet quick hint that you were not a man to be crossed…_

_It wasn’t but about a week later that they caught up with you and the Ministry, in all their omnipotent intelligence, failed to really search you for anything more than your wand. Not that you minded as you got to taunt them all you liked, got to brag about how thoroughly you enjoyed taking their loved ones. It gave you endless amounts of satisfaction and pleasure watching their faces distort as you went into very graphic detail while they were attempting to process you, all the while keeping your braid safe from them and their polluted hands. After all, you would have really hated to see what you would’ve done to them otherwise…_

Suddenly a sharp heat strikes your left forearm and you stiffen, forcibly prying you from your reverie. Your calloused fingers clutch and scrape at the stone cold floor and you grit your teeth, allowing for this sweet and all too-familiar pain to wash all over you. Once you have a spare breath, you raise your sleeve to see it, that in which you have been waiting for far too long for: the Mark of the master pulsing hard and rapidly along your battle-hardened flesh. It’s close, it’s oh so very close, you could feel it as it invades your every sense, dominates your entire being to your very core and rekindling a fire inside that you haven’t felt in years. Only a matter of time now…

Your head rolls lazily back to the braid and you run the back of your fingers over it once again rather tenderly, your voice and breathing soft, hopeful, and conspiratory.

“Vskore moya krasavitsa skoro…” ( _Soon my beauty soon…_ ) 

\---------

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello and thank you for stopping by! This was written for a writer's duel in February 2016 on another site in which I was honored with 3rd place! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> All things Harry Potter belong to Ms. JK Rowling
> 
> Music Written To: “Poison” by Alice Cooper and “Endless Forms Most Beautiful” by Nightwish


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